


soul on fire

by moth_writes



Series: scintillae [8]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: (sort of), Dragons, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29654841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moth_writes/pseuds/moth_writes
Summary: Simon feels the dragons waking in America.(Standalone-does not need to be read in order of the series.)
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: scintillae [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1763179
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	soul on fire

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little bit different from my other Carry On stuff, so if you're here because you know my fluff...be warned.  
> Minor trigger warning for thoughts that can be considered self harm/suicidal. (Simon doesn't think of it like that, but it can be taken that way). Not worse than canon, but again it's different from my usual snowbaz so I figured better safe than sorry.
> 
> If you think any tags/warnings should be added please let me know!
> 
> Done for the Carry On Sparks prompt Call.

SIMON

I’m starting to think maybe Margaret was right.

Maybe when I spelled these wings, this tail, on something inside me changed. My dna, or whatever.

My magic.

It’s half-stupid and all strange, and I don’t know anything. I think I should, instinctively or something, but I don’t and it’s bothering me.

I’ve been feeling like there’s something out there for weeks now. Like there’s something waiting for me.

I think the dragons in America are waking. Waking, rising, whatever. I can feel their song, lighting up the magic coil like nothing else.

I never thought I’d feel the coil again. The magickal atmosphere. When I had my magic it was there, always, hanging around me like a thick blanket. Like I could reach out and hold the heart of all the unnatural energy of the world.

I’ve been lit up. I have too much energy and it’s making me restless and fevered.

I’ve been helping Baz pull himself out of the same hole I fell into last year. He’s been keeping himself together for me, but now that I can do that he’s falling apart.

Maybe that’s all our relationship is. Digging each other out of holes, taking turns not being able to get up in the morning.

It’s all caught up to him. Our last year at school, America and the shitshow after, everything. 

(We have a nightlight in our room, and even then I don’t turn off the lights until he’s asleep. We keep a heater in there year round because Baz can’t sleep under the weight of anything heavier than a sheet, and my magic doesn’t keep me running hotter than normal anymore.)(It makes me miss it more, sometimes. I used to be the perfect temperature to warm him up and he cooled me down. We down have that anymore, and I feel the loss of it sometimes.)

I’m sitting on our couch waiting. My wings are out and my tail is piled in my lap, and I’m trying not to scratch. My skin is too small for me, and I’m itching to get out of it.

I want to fly. I know I can, I did in America, but I’ve only done it a few times. We can’t get out to the country often with Baz in school and my work at the bakery.

I want to climb to the top of this building and let myself fall.

I think I’d be able to. If I jumped I’d soar.

I think about how I breathed fire, when I came back from America. In that fight. I’d felt it rising like the best kind of burning, like I held the sun inside me. Like I  _ was  _ the sun, deep down, and it would burn away everything else.

I haven’t managed to repeat it yet. I can make puffs of smoke and tiny flames-Baz uses me to light his cigarettes on the rare occasion he smokes-but nothing like that first time. No more great jets of fire, pouring from me like magic used to.

I clench my teeth hard enough to make my jaw creak and glance at the clock. Baz’s class ended a while ago, and he’ll be home soon.

We’re in a rare point, where we can both pick ourselves up and pretend at life even if it’s only for a day. (I don’t think about how Baz couldn’t stand for the ache in his bad leg yesterday, or how I carried him to the bath because that’s the only place light and different enough to not remind him of the coffin.)(I don’t think about last week, when I tore up the bedsheets just to feel them rip.)

I wait.

For Baz. For the itching to subside. For the magic to cover me like a thick blanket of electricity.

For the dragons.

I hear their call, and I’m going to answer it. Someday.

**Author's Note:**

> i love simon breathing fire
> 
> also, this is my 61st fic on ao3, so it being Carry On feels very fitting.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
